Hot Chocolate
by Freya Sacksen
Summary: Sarah always made the best hot chocolate...six pieces on family, love and comfort.


**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine. My copy of LO isn't even mine anymore, my cursed boyfriend having stolen it from me!

**A/N:** I am fully aware that Kaim may be more than a bit OOC…but this is keeping in mind that we don't often get to see him in family mode. Also, yes, it is incredibly rare for a port city to snow. I should know – I live in one!

**Hot Chocolate**

**i. ****Rain**

There was a strange symphony to the day, mused Mack, as he lay on his bed and looked up at the ceiling.

In the background, the rain battered on his walls, chimed on his windows, howled through the trees, roared across the waves.

Quietly, the leak in the room dripped onto the wooden floor, making a hushing noise as it fell, and a quiet tap as it joined the steadily-growing puddle.

Just above the leak came the rhythmic pounding of nails into wood, coupled with an occasional curse.

There's a leak in the roof, Mack had said to his grandfather with a frown. Kaim mirrored the expression, before looking out the window in a pensive sort of way.

All right, then, Kaim had replied. He had fetched a ladder, some nails and wood and, completely indifferent to the storm, walked outside to fix the roof for his family.

"Sarah?" Mack asked his grandmother. She was busy mopping up the rain puddle on the floor. She looked up abruptly with a smile.

"Yes, Mack?"

"Do you think I'll ever be as strong as Kaim?"

Sarah's smile widened, and for one beautiful moment, it wasn't raining anymore.

"I'm sure you will, Mack. Now, would you like to come and make hot chocolate with Cooke and me?"

**ii. Nightmare**

Kaim was sitting in front of the fire, reading a book. Sarah was writing in her journal, her neat, albeit slightly cramped, handwriting sliding over the paper.

"…Kaim? Sarah?" the voice was tiny and quiet. Kaim immediately looked up from his book, gray eyes concerned.

"Is something wrong, Cooke?" Sarah asked, putting her quill down.

"…I had a nightmare," her voice came out in a soft whisper. Kaim set his book on the floor and Cooke ran up to her grandfather. Carefully he scooped her up onto his lap, just as she started to shiver, and then cry. Sarah pulled her chair over and gently stroked Cooke's loose hair.

"I'm sorry," said Cooke, her words coming out in soft hiccups.

"About what?" asked Kaim, rubbing her back.

"It's such a _baby_ thing, though. To have a nightmare and cry about it," Kaim nobly refrained from smiling at the pout in Cooke's words.

"There's nothing wrong with having a nightmare, Cooke," said Sarah gently, walking around so that she could hold Cooke's hands, "Oh, look. Your hands are so cold," Sarah started to softly chafe Cook's hands. Her granddaughter continued to hiccup quietly into Kaim's collarbone.

"Now, what was this nightmare about?" asked Kaim. Cooke mumbled something indistinct against Kaim's skin, "What was that?"

Cooke bit her lip and twisted so that her mouth was a little freer.

"…tower of mirrors," she said quickly, as if she were pulling a bandage off a particularly nasty wound.

Sarah gave Cooke an encouraging smile.

"That's okay, Cooke," she said, "It…it was a pretty scary thing."

"Yeah, but you don't see Mack having nightmares," pouted Cooke.

Sarah and Kaim decided it would be wisest to _not_ mention how often her brother had had nightmares.

"You were very brave that day, Cooke," said Kaim, rocking her back and forth.

"Really?" she asked, eyes shining. Kaim hugged her thin shoulders.

"Yeah, Cooke. Very, very brave."

Cooke sighed and leaned against Kaim, before letting out a loud yawn.

"…can I have some hot chocolate?" she said in what she clearly thought was a sly tone of voice. Kaim smiled, and it was clear to Sarah that he was about to say 'yes'.

"Tomorrow, Cooke," said Sarah, before Kaim could ensure a trip to the dentist's.

"Promise?" said Cooke, with all the solemnity that a twelve-year old could muster.

"_Yes_, Cooke, I _promise_. Now, it's time for bed, Cooke. It's past eleven."

Kaim carried his granddaughter up to her bed, as if to make up for the lack of hot chocolate, and Sarah gently tucked her in. Smiling, Cooke curled up like a cat, and drifted to sleep.

**iii. Alone**

The room seemed very close. On the inside of his eyelids, Kaim could see explosions of magic, Seth vanishing into light, a Lirum too thin for anything remotely comforting lying on her bed, his mortal friends trapped and about to die, Ming crying for the man she loved, the quiet way his grandchildren were starting to collapse…

Strangling a yell, Kaim sat up in bed abruptly. He could taste fire and blood. Running a weary hand through his sweat-soaked hair, Kaim stood up and went to find something to read.

He'd barely settled down when he heard a soft cry. Stumbling to his feet, imagining soldiers, bandits, robbers, someone he had to protect Sarah from, he skidded into their room…

…Nothing. No one. Just his wife sitting there, looking terribly cold and terribly sad.

"Oh," she said in a tiny voice, "I…I wasn't sure where you were."

Kaim, worried, sat next to Sarah and held her.

"I just…just…oh, I'm sorry, it was so silly. I kept…I kept dreaming that you were gone."

He smiled quietly and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Her hair smelled softly of the lilac she cleaned the bedsheets with, the scent of old books, new paper, and hot chocolate.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sarah," Kaim breathed against her smooth brown hair, "I promise."

Already, Sarah was starting to drift back to sleep, all the while with Kaim softly promising her, over and over:

_I won't leave you, Sarah. I'll always be here. I'll always love you. You won't have to be alone anymore…_

**iv. Pollyanna**

"Cooke, will you please stop humming that infernal tune?" demanded Kaim. Normally he was patient with his granddaughter's flights of fancy, but humming the same tune, nonstop, for a _week_ was enough to test the patience of anybody and everybody.

Cooke smiled toothily at Kaim and he sighed. One thousand years and he was unable to control a twelve year old. Laughing, she ran upstairs so fast and so loudly Kaim winced at the way the poor wood groaned.

He reached for his mug of hot chocolate, and let out a string of swear words upon the discovery that it had gone cold.

It was not the end of his troubles.

'_Cause I still believe in miracles I swear I've seen a few…_

Kaim froze and started to grit his teeth. It was that frustrating _song_. Squeaky and childlike and far too optimistic, especially for a family that had seen violence, his temper was truly pushed to the limit when he heard his _wife_, his thousand year old, black-magic wielding, depression-defeating, talented, hard-working _wife_ singing that _horrible_ tune.

"What the hell are you singing that for?!" he snarled at Sarah. Quite unaffected by his annoyance, Sarah smiled and continued to sing.

_And the time will surely come when you can see my point of view…_

And now…

Now…

_Now_…

_Damn it, the world is out to get me_ thought Kaim with an internal snarl.

Because, sure enough, someone knocked at his door. Someone mortal, someone smarmy, someone annoying and someone who was _singing that dratted song_.

Storming over to the door he slammed it open.

"_No_!" he half-yelled in Jansen's face, "You are _not_ coming in this house so long as you are singing that accursed song!"

Finally, it was the last straw. Truly, the camel's back was broken when, all together, all at once, _in the same time_, his wife, granddaughter and monarch _sang the same song_.

Letting out an incoherent snarl of irritation, Kaim stalked off to find something to do that would involve loud noises and anything _but_ that cursed 'Pollyanna' song.

_I believe in second chances and that's why I believe in you…_

**v. ****A White Winter**

When winter struck Numara it came in two flavors. Flavor One: So mild you could barely tell the difference. Flavor Two: So strong, bitter, cold and unpleasant it was enough to make you want to hibernate.

The storm was unbelievably frosty and bitter. In fact it looked as if, for the first time in several years, it might actually _snow_ in Numara.

"Will it snow, Kaim? Will it will it will it?" the eager and desperate way that Mack stared at his grandfather made him briefly wonder if Mack was under the illusion that Kaim could control the weather.

"Well, Numara is a port city, and port cities…" Kaim was about to continue when he caught the glare Sarah gave him over his grandson's shoulder, "…uh, maybe."

Weeks passed, and the only thing even resembling snow that fell were some soft snowflakes that melted the instant they hit the ground. Mack and Cooke had taken to running eagerly to the front window to see if there was snow, and the disappointment on their faces always twisted Kaim's heart.

Until one morning…

Kaim had resigned himself to a winter of pleading looks, pouts and maybe a few tears if he wasn't lucky, so when Cooke and Mack all but flew into the kitchen, wearing about ten layers, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling, madly proclaiming about the _two feet of snow, honest Kaim, come see, come see_, Kaim, for one mad second, wondered if Ming had done something to the clouds.

But, sure enough, a thick, downy layer of snow met his eyes. Thin winter light was tossed back as Cooke and Mack proceeded to fly around, tossing snowballs and laughing with gleeful abandon.

Kaim was perfectly happy to stand there, smiling indulgently right up until one of Mack's snowballs went slightly awry…

_Thud_.

A wet, cold and slowly melting snowball smacked Kaim flat on the face.

Cooke and Mack were hovering somewhere between fear and humor as the snowball slowly dropped off Kaim's face.

"That's it," he growled, before scooping a snowball and pelting after his grandchildren, swearing revenge. Shrieking, laughing, and generally getting snow in their mittens and down their coats, the three flung themselves around the garden. Cooke and Mack soon teamed up and tackled Kaim, knocking him to the floor and sending lazy puffs of snow up.

Kaim, grinning in spite of himself, scooped the two up and carried them, one over each shoulder, to a particularly thick pile of snow.

"No! Bad Kaim! Put your grandchildren down!"

Kaim, Cooke and Mack all turned to the doorway where Sarah, clearly battling with laughter, watched, gently touching her fingers to her ears.

"Oh, but _Sarah_!" whined Cooke and Mack as Kaim set them on their feet, "We were having fun!"

"And _I've_ just finished making a pan of hot chocolate…ahh!" Sarah let out a high yell as the children darted past her so quickly she almost fell over. Kaim followed at a more sedate pace, slowly removing sodden clothing as he walked into their cozy home. Soon the family was settled in front of the fire, wet clothes set out to dry, wrapped up in thick, warm blankets and quietly sipping their hot chocolate.

"You know," said Kaim with a smile, "I think I could get used to white winters."

**vi. Burnt Milk**

"Eew!" squeaked Cooke, nose wrinkled, as she walked into the kitchen, "What's that smell?"

"What's what smell?" asked Kaim, shaking burnt fingers.

"Your grandfather," said Sarah with a sigh, "Is trying to make hot chocolate."

"So that smell is…?"

"Burnt milk."

Cooke stared at her grandfather in disbelief.

"I didn't even know you _could_ burn milk…"

Kaim threw a dark glare at his womenfolk, and the two burst into quiet giggles.

"All right," said Kaim, extinguishing the various flames, "That's it!"

Mack came down the stairs to find Kaim in the process of tickling Cooke and Sarah, who were laughing and shrieking breathlessly as they tried to get away.

"…Kaim?"

"Yes, Mack?" asked Kaim, releasing Cooke and Sarah, who stuck their tongues out at him.

"…What's that smell?"

Kaim let out a groan of exasperation and defeat, and resigned himself to an inability to make hot chocolate.


End file.
